


foreign to care

by QueenOfSkaro



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: After the gold sickness, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bard sleeping, Change In Character, Cuddling, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Insecure Thorin, Lake Town, M/M, Self-Worth Issues, Size Difference, Support, Thorin feeling small, emotional inept Thorin, ooc probably, supporting Bard, unwillingly sharing a bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfSkaro/pseuds/QueenOfSkaro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin and Bard share a bed in Lake Town and this makes Thorin think.<br/>A thinking Thorin can't lead anywhere good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the one in lake town

He could not be serious. No normal being would think – but the man still advanced and while he kept his gaze carefully averted it was clear where his destination lay.

“What do you think you're doing?”, the dwarf named Thorin asked in a harsh whisper to not wake his company – or, Mahal forbid, be overheard.  
They had found shelter with the grim bargeman who brought them over the lake and were now squeezing in every nook and cranny of the little house.

You didn't just enter a four-person-household with the expectation to unearth guestrooms for thirteen dwarfs and a hobbit, that much was obvious.

Kili and Fili had to share the cot that disguised as a couch and Dwalin had positioned himself in front of them on the floor, together with his brother.  
Ori, Dori and Nori found place in the room that belonged to their hosts son, Bain the dwarf thought his name was, and the children holed themselves up in the girls room.  
Bifur, Bofur and Bombur slept on and under the kitchen table and Gloin and Oin took over the hallway. Thorin wasn't entirely sure where the hobbit was, but he figured someone as small as he was wasn't too hard to hide.

As for himself he took the cot in what probably should be a bedroom, but felt more like a closet with a mat in it.  
Maybe he forgot to count in the man in his musings, but that still didn't excuse the audacity - 

“Scoot over.”, came the rumbled command and it took Thorin a second to register the meaning.  
“Definitely not!”, he outraged, but he could have saved his breath as Bard lay down on the free part of the mat and then just shoved him to the wall.  
That presumptuous asshole! The behavior shocked the king to the bones – he couldn't exactly say that he was never treated that way, because he definitely got treated worse already, but most times he wasn't in his undies and those few occasions were few enough to still feel mortified.

He just opened his mouth with a furious inhale, as Bard already talked over him.  
“Spare me. This is my bed, so you're going to share or you're going to leave. Make up your mind and do it quickly for I really need to sleep now.”, the bargeman ordered and his tone made the dwarf beside him feel uneasy in an unfamiliar sort of way. As he couldn't classify it he chose to settle on the earlier annoyance with the man who had already closed his eyes, obviously set on going to sleep with Thorin right beside him.

Still trying to come up with a comeback to gain the upper hand he felt the last weeks catch up with him. He felt bone-tired and he reckoned he wouldn't get a better chance at a decent nights sleep any time soon. Since they entered Mirkwood he wasn't able to rest more than a wary nap with his eyes half open on his surroundings and that was only when Balin sat him down and made him do that. The dungeons in the elven city weren't exactly relaxing either and now in Bards home – his bed, even, almost in his arms, even though Thorin wasn't sure where that thought came from, he felt a besotting warmth emitting from the man beside him, steady and luring and he felt himself drift away for a split second. 

Snapping his eyes open again he spared a thought to the fact that he hadn't been this close to someone outside his company – and those were only because they had to provide warmth or, more recently, had to stay within arms reach in the pitch black darkness of a cursed forest – for a very long time, going into details he wasn't sure he wanted to look into right now.

Before long the breathing of the man beside him evened out and it was safe for the dwarf to look at the other again. Not that he made that a habit, or really wanted to, but being this near it was impossible not to notice certain disparities between them he didn't notice before. Their enormous size difference, for example. Of course he knew that he was, as a dwarf, naturally smaller than most other races, he wasn't daft. But, as he was very tall for a dwarf – a trait running in his family that must have jumped Fili – standing it wasn't as noticeable, with his wide frame, strong shoulders and regal bearing.

Now though, lying down right beside Bard, it was only too obvious, as the others chapped lips were level with his eyes – there wasn't a reason behind him noticing the lips first, it was just that they were right there in easy-starring range. But to top that off his toes only reached the others shin, right below his knee – and yes, maybe he did tap it with his foot, but only to confirm the fact that he was, in fact, quite small.

That was a new knowledge, one he wasn't sure he liked – he didn't, surely, why would he, but still -  
Of course he had to look up in conversations with a man or an elf, but with his muscles and broad shoulders he never actually _felt_ small. Until now, of course, because an emotional crisis couldn't come for a visit when the timing was right. Only days from entering a mountain that could quite possibly inhabit a still alive dragon was the best time to question his reaction to a tall, strong looking human who helped them when they needed it and offered them his home – maybe not so much offered but instead not protested at least, but that wasn't the point.

The point was – that there wasn't a point, of course. Thorin didn't have time to breath in the smell of salty sweat or to notice the tiny scars on his cheeks he maybe got from shaving when he was younger and wasn't very skilled at it yet.  
He should sleep, he should, but he only stared for minutes and tried to remember every line and crease on a mostly strangers face.

A snort made him instantly tense up as Bard breathed loudly and then, to the dwarfs eternal horror, turned onto his side facing Thorin.  
Technically there was more space on their mattress now, but it was all behind the bargeman and while it was a tight fit before it was almost smothering now, overwhelming in a not-bad not-good way.

Reasoning that, of course, in the cold of the room the weak-skinned man would want to be near the heat source that was a dwarvish body didn't help too much with Thorins overactive brain that threw up scenario after scenario one more unrealistic than the last.  
He wanted to protest, had his mouth open already, the mans beard tickling him the barest touch as they lay flush against each other -

Thorin couldn't bring himself to do it. Not only didn't he want to wake him, he didn't mind either. He liked this, much as he loathed to admit, but in the safety of his mind he allowed himself one little moment of weakness before they would have to leave in the morning.  
Turning a fraction Bard grunted again and the dwarven king found himself pressed against a fine-muscled chest pelted with a thin layer of dark hair and he had to violently bite his lip to keep himself from groaning out loud. 

He flushed all over as he thought about someone coming in, seeing them, as he was literally dwarfed against the man.  
Feeling small was new, so new he almost didn't want to touch the subject even in his head – wouldn't have, if he hadn't landed himself against Bards chest, a tongues length away from licking skin, actually enjoying the feel of a larger body against his own, wanting to buck into the tempting thigh but didn't dare to.

Lying on his side Bard had started to snore quietly, an even sound accompanying Thorins thoughts and careful fingers, as he lightly stroked the tips through the coarse hair on the others belly, still biting his lip, keeping any possible sound hidden away and only quitting after a brazen touch barely below the others waistband, drawing a hitched breath and destroying the rhythm.  
He snatched the hand back to his side, mortified at what he did, tense in the face of detection, but soon the man started his calm breathing again.

Always busy caring for his people had demanded sacrifices, one of them being his own private life. He'd do it again, of course, any day, but still he ached now, yearning, in need of his whole self control to keep from continuing his exploration.  
It was too long, that must be the only reason for his predicament. Not that he and Bard were in anyway intimate now, but it certainly could be, not that it would, just -

Thinking was exhausting, he summarized the gibberish in his head.  
He shouldn't want to feel small. He shouldn't want to feel safe. He shouldn't want to feel protected. Bard made him feel all that and while he did want to feel like that, he shouldn't.  
He was a king. His people needed to be sure that he was strong, that he could support them without a thought to himself. This needed to be nipped in the bud.

Shoving the others shoulder roughly brought back some distance and woke up Bard.  
“Stay on your side and don't get cuddly.”, he groused and turned to face the wall.

And if he did feel lonely the second he stopped touching the other it was nobodies business.  
He didn't need anyone to protect him.


	2. the one after the battle

Upon waking – and that was feat in itself, he heard quite elaborately from his company – he had a lot apologies to make.  
No one needed to explain him about the gold sickness that he succumbed to for far too long, but everyone did, anyway. Part of him wondered if they did that to make him feel even worse, but he didn't call them out on it. He deserved this and much, much more.

Still, he remembered everything, now that he had his head to himself again. He had nightmares about it. Saw himself holding Bilbo over the cliff when he closed his eyes. Woke up in cold sweat with terror in his every vein. Flinched away from gold when he caught sight of it.  
He didn't mention it, though. Those were his punishments. Few of many to come as the time would move on. 

He wasn't allowed to move due to his injuries and thus he lay on his cot in one of many tents in their camp right at the foot of the mountain he fought so hard to reclaim.   
With nothing more than thinking to do it was easy to lose himself in his faults, instead of looking into the future. It was easy to dwell on depressing thoughts and get lost in them.

Small was the word that came to his mind often nowadays. It was how he felt; undeserving and disappointing and - small.   
His thoughts strayed to Bard for only a second, but it was enough to open a floodgate, twisting his stomach and making it churn on itself, adding to his hurts with a righteous viciousness.

Fili came to visit an told him about how the negotiations were going, having stepped up in Thorins stead with Balin at his side as his advisor.   
From what he could gather his heir did a good job – so much better than he himself did.

Kili came by to tell him about his elvish love interest. - He didn't dare to speak against it.

Dwalin told him how the battle unfolded, in great stories picturing heroics Thorin didn't remember performing. - He didn't want to hear any of it.

Gloin wanted to report about the treasury and what he'd managed to record so far, but the king got desperate enough for a distraction and mentioned Gimli.

Then, one morning after Oin was already gone and Thorin listlessly poked at his breakfast, Bard came to visit.   
With only a short word of greeting and little preamble he came forward and roughly shoved a wooden box under the dwarfs nose, making him cross his eyes a little.

“What is that?”, Thorin exclaimed confused as he took it and opened the lid.   
The white light softly drifting out didn't even manage to illuminate his rapidly blanching face as he was already throwing the case through the tent in horror, launching himself halfway off his bed in his hurry to only get as far away from it as possible.

Probably without thinking about it Bard quickly came to his side to gently guide him back onto his bedding to keep him from further hurting himself, but the damage was done already. White-faced the dwarven king tried desperately to get his breathing back under control, tried to keep from hyperventilating, as he pressed his palm onto the even stitching Oin worked on his chest that pulsated with renewed pain.

Normally he concentrated on the pain to calm down, to hide himself away again behind a crumbling wall to keep curious eyes out, but it wasn't working now. Only as Bard started to talk to him, gently urged him to _calm down, look at me, concentrate on me, deep breath, another, calm down, look into my eyes, Thorin, you need to calm down -_

Deep dark brown eyes were what did it, what broke him from his panic and as he came to himself he wasn't holding onto his pain anymore, but instead gripped the bowmans biceps in a bruising grip. He let go of them as if he burned himself, casting his eyes down and taking another deep breath, this one on his own, because he could do this – it's not the first panic attack he had since the battle and his sickness and it would hardly be the last, he was able to tend to himself. With the man right there it was just hard to remember why it was needed.

“Are you better?”, Bard asked carefully, still kneeling at his bedside, hovering almost and it was impossible for Thorin to wrap his head around that obvious worry in his bearing. Bard should not worry about Thorin. He should dislike him at least, be disgusted by him and his weak mind at worst and the dwarf couldn't come up with the logical proceedings on this situation.

“Take it. Keep it.”, he almost-deflected, not even looking near the unassuming wooden box lying at the tent flap, instead fixating on his trembling clenched fists.  
“Thorin, look at me.”, the man urged, but the other wouldn't listen. He quelled his unease with visible effort, shoving it down as far as he could and that would suffice for now, it would get him through this duty call at last and then he would have to see how he would proceed.

“You may keep it. For – for all the trouble I caused you it is only right to offer a token of peace. Accept it and leave.”, Thorin offered, but it was more like an order to just get out. Bard wouldn't listen, though.  
“Are you sure? Bilbo told me it's significance. And it was very important to you. Don't you want to at least give it to someone else?”, the man asked cautiously, despite his good intentions not sure how to tread in a situation such as this. He reached his hand out to lay on Thorins shoulder, but stopped as soon as he saw the other tense. The dwarf didn't quite cower away, but it was a near thing.

Flinching, the king berated himself. He was pathetic. Weak-minded and unworthy of this worry. He was willing to go to war with Bard instead of giving him the coins he deserved for his town. He didn't deserve no worry nor care. Hardening his features took an unusual amount of effort.

“Keep it. Now go.”, sneering never felt as shaky as this time and still the man was right beside him. Growling viciously he shoved his shoulder, hard, making him fall flat on his ass.  
“I . Said . Leave.”, Thorin snapped loudly and at last Bard slowly stood up, wary look on his face. Better than worry. He didn't deserve worry. He deserved wary.

A hand landed on his shoulder and gave him a strong squeeze, contrary to him shoving the other.  
“I will take it. You won't have to see it again.”, Bard swore earnestly, seeking eye-contact and Thorins whole world seemed to shift, seemed to crumble and break and him with it. Not acceptable. Not acceptable. 

Before he collapsed in on himself the dragon slayer left with a last nod, taking the cursed gemstone with him.  
Breath rushed out of his lungs, hurting him inside and out and he relished in the pain, dragging another painful breath.

Bard would protect him. If Bard said he'd be safe of it, then he would be.  
It doesn't matter where he got that knowledge from. He just knew.  
He was safe of it.


	3. the one where we end

He was allowed to leave his cot for a short period of time and until now he got away with little walks inside his tent, but Fili got insistent about him joining them at meetings. It wasn't that he didn't want to – he didn't, but his life was a series of things he didn't want.

It was that he couldn't quite bring himself to leave the tent. Every time he tried to he got – not a panic attack, he always broke up his attempt before it could get that far, but it was close enough to have him on the edge permanently. His self-view sank even further. What kind of king, who wasn't even able to set foot in front of his tent.

He pretended to be in too much pain to leave the bed, a new low in his life.  
Oin ordered two days of bed rest to make sure there wasn't any infection.

Thorin thought he should feel bad, but he only felt relief at the prospect of being able to stay in without excuses.  
Another two days where he wouldn't have to face hundreds of dwarfs who all knew what happened, a thousand elves who looked down on him and the remnants of a human town who hated him with more than one valid reason. Facing them was more than he able to.

“You can't hide in here forever.”, he got woken up roughly by a shove to his shoulder. With closed eyes he couldn't pinpoint who it was, but as soon as he opened them he pulled back jerkily.

“Shouldn't there be a guard in front of the tent?”, the king demanded breathless as his gaze fixed on Bards deep brown orbs again, seeking them out, getting strength from a source he didn't have a right to use.  
“Why don't you get up and see for yourself?”, the bowman shot back without mercy.  
The thought alone made Thorin balk.

“What's the problem, Thorin? Let me help you.”, Bard urged quietly, resting his hand on the dwarfs shoulder, giving support freely, as if the dwarf deserved even a lick of it, but still he was physically unable to shove it off.  
Since that night they lay together – totally platonic, meaningless, forgotten, unimportant, because it didn't mean a thing, just like this. Just because Thorin had no idea why Bard wanted to help doesn't mean there wasn't a reason behind it. Even though the dwarf really couldn't think of anything, as Fili and Balin did a better job at ruling than he did. 

He wanted to tell him to leave again, but leaving would mean that he'd stop touching him and for the first time in a long while he felt safe and comforted and – and he didn't deserve that, did he?  
With visible reluctance he shrugged the hand off.

“I don't know how any of this would be your business.”, he stated with put upon disdain.  
“Then make it mine.”, Bard demanded with astounding ease, as if he already went through this conversation in his head and had an answer to everything Thorin could have said, as if he gave this, him a lot of thought. As if he mattered. It drew his gaze again, confusion evident in his eyes.

The power this man had over him was frightening and yet he had the urge to at least try to please him, make him proud, prove himself worthy. But that was the point, he wasn't worthy.  
It must have been obvious what he thought, stripped of his defenses, as Bards face shifted and he lay his hand onto the dwarfs bearded cheek, shocking him into silence.

“Don't let it eat away at you. You were sick. Balin explained it. You are better now. You are not the same dwarf anymore. You need help and I am willing to help you. Let me in, Thorin.”, it wasn't quite pleading, more like hypnotizing, as it was enough to raise goosebumps on his arms, returning the gaze with a burning intensity. 

“Why would you bother?”, he wanted to know, needed to know, because he couldn't think of a reason why anyone, especially Bard, would still bother with him.  
The sickness scrambled his mind quite a bit, shifting his focus and his views and leaving him a different dwarf, one filled with insecurity and resentment against himself, one who didn't dare to venture past a tent flap for fear of the judgement of others.

“Because someone should. And seeing that I'm personally invested since the start I volunteer. Now, get dressed. We have a meeting to go to.”, the dragon slayer ordered and, with one last stroke, he stood up and left the tent to give him a little privacy.  
While Thorin wondered what “personally invested” could mean he got dressed without giving it much thought, as this was what Bard ordered him to do.

He only hesitated as he was finished and took a step towards the entrance. Bard waited outside, waited for him for some reason and yet he couldn't get himself to take another step.  
Ridiculous.

The bowmans head appeared in the doorway.  
“You coming?”, he asked, but he already entered the tent again and came towards him.  
“Yes. Of course. I am merely – I'm – “, Thorin tried to talk himself into going outside, but instead his jaw locked and his nostrils flared with strain. Again he felt a now familiar hand on his shoulder, trying to guide him, but he stood rooted to the spot, breathing against the swelling panic that flared in his chest.

“Thorin.”, Bard called his name and it helped a little, giving him strength. The hand stroked down his arm to take his in a comforting grip, firm and grounding, anchoring him back to reality. He returned it, looked up - _up up_ \- into Bards eyes, taking in the encouraging smile and he gave a determined nod.

He wasn't worthy yet, but maybe he could be again. Perhaps he could become a dwarf who deserved Bards attention and his faith, maybe even be a good king with the help of his heirs and friends. A deep breath and he took a step, a look onto Bards smile and he managed another, gripping the strong hand in his he reached the flap and just as he hesitated again Bard leant down, gripped his cheek with his free hand and, after an intense look, kissed him firmly. It stayed chase, but it was enough to remind him what lay ahead of him once he stepped through the cloth.

His future was what lay ahead.  
A future in a mountain he fought to reclaim, with a treasury he didn't think he'd ever be able to step in again, with people whose trust he'd have to earn with hard work and patience.  
Maybe even a future with more kisses and the feeling of safety. A future with Bard.

His grip must have hurt the man, but he didn't complain as they exited the tent, taking the first step into a future that could hold everything he hoped for.  
Another step and it was sealed.


End file.
